


don't thank me yet

by architecture_in_f1ll0ry



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, M/M, a happy au where sarai isn't dead can I get an amen, i am soft, this is soft, viren is daddy and he's damn good at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23686516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/architecture_in_f1ll0ry/pseuds/architecture_in_f1ll0ry
Summary: After successfully securing the heart of the Magma Titan and escaping Thunder's wrath, Viren and Sarai reunite with Harrow, and the three of them finally act on unspoken desires.
Relationships: Harrow/Sarai (The Dragon Prince), Harrow/Sarai/Viren (The Dragon Prince), Harrow/Viren (The Dragon Prince), Sarai/Viren (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 62





	don't thank me yet

**Author's Note:**

> A belated birthday fic for our favorite misguided high mage who deserves all the fancy desserts and soft kisses in the world

Viren can barely breathe, barely think as he bends over Sarai's prone form, palming her face gently. "Sarai, please, please, you're alright," he mutters desperately, casting a fearful glance over his shoulder, still somewhat dizzy from the fall, the blast of lightning that just barely missed him. Misty gallops over, whickering softly as she nudges at Sarai's head. To Viren's astonishment and relief, Sarai moans, her eyes blinking open and gazing up at Viren in confusion.

"Oh, _god_ ," he gasps, head dropping to her chest for a moment, weak with gratitude, before sitting back up, looking over her carefully. "Are you..."

"I'm fine," she grunts, her eyes tracking the skies, sucking her bloodied lower lip between her teeth. Her helmet has been knocked aside, her long braid is a dusty mess, and Viren has never felt more in awe of her strength and tenacity as she struggles to stand, hands clasped tightly in his. "Do we have any chance of surviving this?" she asks plaintively, swinging herself back onto Misty, extending a hand to help Viren up. He settles behind her, refocusing his attention on the snarling dragon, summoning the last of his strength.

"A chance," he grits out, and his eyes flare purple as he speaks words of concealment and confusion, his staff emitting a blast of light that spurs Misty into a panicked gallop, and breaks against Thunder with a deafening crack.

“What the hell did _that_ do?” Sarai hollers at Viren, tossing one final, panicked glance backwards, steering Misty's reins through the maze of crumbled Magma Titan as they speed towards the border. Viren clings to her tightly, eyes fading back to their normal color as he watches Thunder roar in rage and disorientation, heavy wings beating the air as it tosses its head from side to side. His neck strains as he tries to keep his eyes on the dragon, teeth nearly clattering as Sarai’s steed picks up speed, but he has to be sure. They’re so close.

“I used a spell to addle his memory. If I was successful, he won’t remember what happened here today,” Viren yells back, staff still clutched tightly in his right hand. As Sarai rounds a corner, Thunder finally disappears from view, but Viren knows better than to let down his guard; there may yet be creatures ahead of them who can report back to the dragon king. For the time being, though, he can breathe.

“Good girl, Misty,” Sarai soothes as they gallop endlessly forward, past the desolate, scarred plains that saw vicious battles long ago. The grass never grew back here, poisoned from bloodshed, the runoff from generations of fury and fear, battles for and against dark magic. It makes Sarai shudder to think of it...how devastating and unnecessary those centuries of discord, for these innocent creatures. All for the sake of, what? Power? Stealing a force—a life force—that doesn’t rightfully belong to you. Despicable.

And yet, thanks to Viren’s adherence to this class of magic, they might have just saved two kingdoms. Sarai still didn’t love it as a solution, but she had to admit, neither she nor the other members of the High Council had been able to come up with any alternatives that didn't end in widespread tragedy. Was this what ruling truly meant? The constant choosing between one kind of death, and another? 

“Queen Sarai.”

Sarai takes a moment before answering, eyes ever scanning the road ahead, on high alert for their next challenge. Viren is a steady presence at her back, clutching perhaps a bit too tightly, but it’s grounding in a way she can parse later. Right now, she just wants to get home. She wants to see Harrow again, see her son again.

“I know you are...not happy with me, but I hope you can see that we have accomplished something great today.”

Despite her thoughts, she cannot concede so quickly. “Annika and Neha are _dead_ , Viren,” Sarai returns in a tight voice, blinking rapidly. She can’t fall apart, not now. Poor little Aanya…

“I know.” Viren sounds anguished, his voice catching. “I cared for them too. But they knew the risks. You saw them ride in to face Thunder. No one could have stopped them.” 

Sarai knows he’s right—and his plaintive tone tells her he is trying to convince himself as much as he is her—but she still burns with the injustice of it, of a world that claims beautiful, vibrant, innocent lives so cruelly and indiscriminately. She thinks of that giant, glowing heart, the pained roar of the titan as it was wrenched out of it, of the rumble of hungry bellies, children begging for scraps in the street. Her vision clouds and she roughly scrubs away a tear, gritting her teeth in confused anguish.

“This spell had better fucking work, Viren,” she bites back, and is somewhat horrified to feel some measure of comfort when Viren tightens his hold, presses his face into her shoulder. At first, she can’t be sure if it’s the rapid clip of Misty’s gait that makes his shoulders shake or if he has succumbed to grief as well, but when he speaks, it becomes obvious that it’s the latter.

“I swear to you, Sarai, their deaths will not be in vain.” His words rumble into her shoulder, and seem to slip beneath her armor, settle warmly along her spine. 

“If Xadia allows us to pass back to Katolis unharmed, and Thunder doesn’t retaliate, then neither will we,” Sarai says forcefully, needing Viren to understand, hoping to appeal to him when his defenses are uncharacteristically lowered. She knows that her husband loves him, and despite their butting heads at times, she can understand why. But she needs to be able to trust him. “Do you hear me, Viren? I will speak with Harrow as well, and I _need_ us to be united in this,” she continues, turning her head in his direction. “This ends _today_. For our children's sakes, Viren! It’s enough.”

“It’s enough,” he agrees numbly, lifting his head, nodding. “Yes, my queen.”

“Good.” They ride the rest of the way in somber silence beneath the rising moon, crossing the Katolian border with twin sighs of relief. The courtyard is buzzing when they trot in, exhausted, and shouts go up from the assorted guards and members of the council, tear-streaked faces suddenly split in wonder and joy. Viren dismounts first, then helps Sarai down, and he’s barely aware of the hushed crowd around them as they simply gaze at each other in mingled triumph and shock, both battle-worn, covered in dirt and bruises.

“Okay, _now_ you can thank me,” Sarai jokes, but before he can open his mouth to do so, she pulls him into a tight hug, which he eagerly returns, his eyes falling shut as he turns his face into her neck. He’d really thought, he could have _sworn_ , for those several horrifying seconds, that she was lost, the life snuffed out of her forever by the dragon king. She smells like sweat and crusted blood, and beneath that, something more sweet and tangy, like cranberries. His heart clenches oddly in his chest as he inhales, letting relief flow through him.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, lips brushing her skin, and he feels more than he hears her breath hitch—and then they’re both being embraced so tightly he releases an _“oof!”_ of surprise, bewildered to find his feet leaving the ground.

“Don’t _ever_ scare me like that again,” Harrow growls, shaking them both once, before depositing them back on the ground. His face is wan and lined with worry, and he clutches Sarai’s face in his hands, bringing her close for a firm kiss, then resting their foreheads together and just breathing for several moments. “What the hell happened?” he demands, pulling away to look at her, then Viren. “How did you get away from Thunder?”

“Viren cast a memory spell,” Sarai tells him, putting one arm around Harrow’s waist, giving Viren a thoughtful sideways glance. “Our mage has some tricks up his sleeve that _don’t_ involve death, if you can believe it.”

Ouch. Viren flinches, but nods slowly. “Thunder will not remember our trespassing. We were able to leave Xadia unscathed.” Harrow’s eyebrows rise, and he gives Viren a look so heavy with gratitude and tenderness that Viren has to cast his gaze to the ground.

“Thank you, my friend,” he tells the mage quietly, ducking his head to catch Viren’s eyes, his own filled with tears. “I cannot thank you enough.” He pulls Viren into a tight hug that is over too quickly, and Viren releases a quiet breath, trying not to betray the sudden rush of emotion that Harrow's clinging touch brings.

“I am happy to serve you,” Viren responds, his eyes darting to Sarai, who is watching him closely, a knowing smile on her lips. “Both of you.” But his job is not done. He looks back at Harrow. “Where is the heart?”

The king gapes at him for a moment, then clasps his shoulder tightly. “Surely it can wait until you’ve had a chance to rest?” Harrow asks quietly. “What did that spell take out of you?” 

“It cannot wait.” Viren holds his gaze until the king relents, sighing. Dropping another kiss on Sarai’s forehead and clasping her hand, he nods at Viren, inclining his head further into the courtyard. At his movements, the guard falls into step behind the trio, and the members of the court kneel as they pass, whispering words of joy and relief to the king and queen. When they reach the heart, Amaya is standing guard, clearly bursting to see her sister, having only heard the news of her return. They embrace tightly, Sarai brushing her fingers through Amaya’s hair, soothing her silent sobs, both of them signing quickly. It’s a touching sight, and one that strikes Viren anew, despite his on-again, off-again hostility with Amaya. That was too close, he thinks again, and straightens his shoulders as he walks over to the egg, placing a palm against it, feeling the quiet, awe-inspiring thrum of its power.

Drawing his staff and speaking the ancient words, he feels the power flow through him in a blazing rush, knowing it has worked when the air around them warms, immediately dispelling the oncoming winter’s chill. When it is finished, he staggers, spent, and is barely aware of strong arms catching him, helping up the stairs and back into the castle. It is only when they are in the hushed hallways that lead to the king and queen’s chambers that he realizes it is Harrow himself supporting him, allowing Viren’s head to loll heavily onto his shoulder. Harrow is saying something to him, quiet words that belie a measure of worry and rueful affection, and Sarai is speaking too, something warm and soft as a hand brushes against his forehead. They are the last faces he sees as he is lowered into a bed, falling into unconsciousness before he can breathe a word of thanks.

//

When Viren wakes, the light is low, and every single muscle is screaming in agony. He blinks, disoriented, and scrubs his hands down his face as the pieces come back to him. The expedition—the Magma Titan—Sarai falling—their escape from Thunder—the spell. Harrow and Sarai—he jerks upward, groaning in pain, eyes watering. He is only able to note that he is in the royal bedchamber before the door opens, admitting an anxious looking Harrow. He crosses quickly to the bed, grinning down at Viren.

“Sleeping Beauty rises!” he jokes, sitting beside him and running a hand through his hair. Viren shuts his eyes involuntarily, blaming his dizziness for leaning into the touch. “It’s been hours. How do you feel?”

“Not great,” Viren says honestly, struggling to catch his breath, because Harrow still hasn’t removed his hand, and is now in fact brushing his fingers down Viren’s cheek, watching him with a fond smile.

“I'm sorry,” he says quietly. There’s a moment of silence as Harrow seems to realize his casual touch has become a caress, and he clears his throat, pulling away. “You look ill. I know it’s the magic. You’ve saved two kingdoms today, Viren. Please, tell me what I can do. How to ease your pain.”

Viren’s throat closes, and he has to look away from Harrow’s penetrating gaze, lest he says something reckless, like _just touch me again._ He tries to sit up and grimaces, dismayed to find himself so weakened in front of the king, bolstered as he is by his words. Harrow makes a disapproving sound and gently shoves him back down, shaking his head.

“Stop, you’ll only further injure yourself.”

“I’m not injured,” Viren argues, shaking his head. “Just...spent and sore. It will pass.” He glances at the door, thinks of his children, their worried little faces as he was preparing to leave. “Soren and Claudia?”

“Sarai is putting all of the children to bed. Likely regaling them with tales of your bravery.” Harrow grins, reaching out once more, hesitating, then smoothing the blanket beside Viren awkwardly, a rush of blood filling his cheeks. Viren’s pulse kicks up several notches—why is he acting so strange? Almost as if…

“I hope she’s telling them of the part she played as well,” he hears himself say, and finds, to his consternation, that he can’t stop his hand from seeking Harrow’s where it lies on the bed. There is only the sound of their breathing as Harrow turns his palm upwards to meet Viren’s, their fingers slotting together instantly. Harrow shifts closer, squeezing his hand as he drops his head, exhaling shakily.

“I am sorry for doubting you,” Harrow murmurs, finally turning to meet Viren’s gaze fiercely, eyes shining with emotion. “I—” he cuts himself off, shakes his head again. “I was wrong. You were right.”

“Harrow, it was a difficult decision,” Viren rejoins swiftly, heart aching to see Harrow so overcome. The truth settles heavily between them, and Viren can’t stop himself from voicing it. “And I will not rest easy. Not with Annika and Neha’s deaths hanging over me.”

Harrow squeezes his hand tightly, leaning over to prevent Viren from looking away. “Don’t blame yourself, Viren,” he commands roughly. “You can’t punish yourself for that.”

“But I—” Viren shakes when Harrow sweeps a hand across his face, brushing away hot, bitter tears. “I really thought that—”

“You thought you could save everyone, as usual,” Harrow finishes softly. “But you can’t. Viren, you saved their entire kingdom. Thousands upon thousands will live, will thrive through this winter, because of you, and because of their sacrifice.” Harrow places a gentle kiss on his forehead and Viren suppresses a sob, his hands coming up to clench at Harrow’s arms tightly, feeling like he might fly apart at any moment. “I’ve got you, my friend,” Harrow murmurs, just holding him, resting his head against Viren’s until his weeping abates.

“I’m...sorry,” Viren mumbles, starting to pull away, and Harrow huffs, shaking his head. His locs brush against Viren’s face, smelling faintly of coconut oil. “You shouldn’t have to—”

“Viren?” Harrow says, a note of humor creeping back into his tone as he pulls away, keeping his face close, so close. Viren is struck by the flecks of green in his golden eyes, the full lips pulled into a small smile that is so unreservedly affectionate, it ignites a powerful fluttering in his chest. “Shut it. No more apologizing for being human.”

Viren huffs a small laugh, and unthinkingly begins, “I’m s—” before Harrow’s mouth is on his, a fleeting press of lips that is over as quickly as it begins, stealing a quiet gasp from Viren’s throat. Harrow pulls back with a stricken expression, and before Viren can react, he’s striding away from the bed, saying something about finding Sarai before he’s gone, the door shutting firmly behind him. 

Viren watches him leave with alarm, and flinches when the door closes, dropping his head into his hands, his lips still tingling from their almost-kiss. His mind races for another minute before he decisively moves to stand, hissing in pain as he rises from the bed, picks up his staff. He doesn’t know exactly what happened just now, but won’t be able to focus on anything until he’s back in the safety of his rooms and no longer at risk of running into Harrow or Sarai. He has no idea what he would say to them, or vice versa.

  
  


It takes a fair amount of time and effort, but he is able to make it back to his section of the castle without being spotted, and he spares a moment to peek in at Claudia and Soren’s rooms—not there, as he figured; Sarai likely put them all to bed in Callum’s room—before shutting and locking his door, stepping over to the hidden cabinet and selecting a potion he’d brewed specifically for times like this, when magic left him severely depleted. He drinks a few drops and replaces it, sighing in relief as it begins its work immediately. Soon he is able to shed his clothes and sink into a hot bath without grimacing in pain, and by the time he slips into bed, the pain has almost left him entirely. 

He shifts onto his side, extending an arm across the empty bed, rolling his eyes at his own sentimentality. Harrow’s behavior completely confounded him. They’d been best friends for years, and Harrow had always made his love for Viren plain—from the easy, open grins he would shoot Viren out of absolutely nowhere, eyes shining; his natural tactility, clasping Viren on the shoulder or pulling him into a hug or even going to so far as to kiss him on the cheek when he’d had enough to drink. Viren had learned, eventually, how to take these gestures in stride, how to return the long embraces without clinging for too long, how to accept his king’s excess affection without blushing every time, burning with want. And those times that Harrow seemed to linger, to give him a warm look he couldn’t quite interpret—Viren immediately chalked that up to his own weakness, his longing transmuted into delusion, an unfortunate chink in his emotional armor that he could never quite hammer out. 

Because it was only Viren who couldn’t move past his childish crush, so much so that it blossomed and matured into love without his noticing, and by the time it became obvious to him—the reason for the random skips of his heart, the slow curl in his gut when he spied Harrow training in the courtyard, sweat gleaming on his bared shoulders—he had his own obligations that made any dramatic confessions impossible. His ill-fated marriage and its messy dissolution, two young, energetic children, the demands of his position in the High Council. 

And of course, there was Sarai, who rode in and so effortlessly won Harrow’s heart. Viren had wanted to hate her, to despise her for securing what he could not (never mind he had never actually _tried_ ) but it was impossible; Sarai was brilliant, a warrior, a fierce young mother who’d seen more of life and death and heartbreak than he and Harrow ever had. She was beautiful and irreverent, a true leader and friend. Because she _had_ become a friend, despite their occasional clashes; she recognized right away how esteemed Viren was in Harrow’s eyes, and invited him in readily, asking him questions, learning about his past, seamlessly stepping in to provide a mother’s love and nurturing to Soren and Claudia when they needed it most. 

Her only fault, in Viren’s eyes, was her trenchant views on morality, resulting in heated arguments that at best, ended with stiff compromise; and at worst, briefly alienated him from Harrow, which he could not abide. It was why he went to such pains to avoid “creative solutions” when he could help it; he loves magic, of course, but not at the expense of these two people he had come to cherish so much.

He hopes they’d found a truce today, though of course, that remains to be seen. He’d meant it, though; he does not intend to raise Xadia’s ire if he can at all help it. He remembers first meeting Annika, her bright laughter and quick wit, and the delight in witnessing her fall so hard and fast for Neha, with her kind eyes and giving spirit. Their sacrifice will mark him forever, he knows. He will simply seek magic from other places; he’s heard tell of a key that can unlock the secrets to the primal sources, which definitely merits further research. He can set dark magic aside for the time being, for the sake of keeping the king and queen’s peace. 

The king and queen. Viren groans, ashamed at the rolling coil of heat that suffuses him when he imagines himself back on that bed, Harrow steady and firm above him, leaning in for that kiss. It was so unexpected, to him as much as it was to Harrow, if his reaction was anything to go by. And now what? He’d likely returned expecting to find Viren where he left him, but could he blame Viren for fleeing? What did he say to Sarai when she questioned his whereabouts, Harrow’s reticence at finding him? He is perversely glad that the royal court and council will have much to occupy themselves with in the next few days—between the memorial for the fallen queens, and initial plans for the coming harvest and distribution of food throughout Katolis and Duren—that this incident will likely be brushed aside and forgotten. Even if it torments Viren until the end of his days, he would rather suffer alone and in silence than do anything to upset the king and queen. 

Eventually, he falls into an uneasy sleep.

// 

“And you have to go easy on Daddy, okay, remember that he’s just been—”

“DADDY!” Sarai looks up at Claudia’s excited squeal, and watches in wry resignation as she and Soren both spring up to hurl themselves at Viren’s legs with all of their combined weight, laughing. Viren grins, stooping to envelop them in hugs, dropping kisses on their heads, their cheeks, tickling their sides and chuckling as they squirm and giggle in delight.

“Well I'm glad to see you’re fully on the mend, because they clearly did not take any of my warnings to heart,” Sarai says ruefully, shooting them mockingly stern glances as Callum scrambles into her lap, sticking a thumb into his mouth. She gives him a kiss on the cheek, and looks back up to Viren, beaming. “Say hi to Lord Viren, Cal.”

“Hi,” he obeys shyly, then tucks his face into his mother’s chest, still sleepy. 

“Good morning, Callum.”

“You slayed that dragon, right dad?” Soren demands, scurrying from Viren’s grip to swing an imaginary sword. 

“No, Soren, he cast a spell on it so it will sleep for a thousand years!” Claudia interjects, eyes alight with mischief. “Didn’t you?”

“Uh, no,” he tells them both, shooting Sarai a bewildered glance, and she shrugs, rolling her eyes. “The dragon is alive and awake. And thankfully, very, very far away. Now it’s time to feed _you_ little dragons!” He rises and resettles Claudia on his back while Soren zooms out of the room, flexing his arms like wings and roaring. “Soren, quieter please!” he calls.

“Where did you disappear to last night?” Sarai asks quietly as they exit Callum’s room, making their way to the dining hall. Viren avoids her gaze by keeping his eyes on Soren, who nearly collides with a group of servants carrying a stack of bedsheets, still brandishing his imaginary sword. “You must have gone in a hurry.”

“Apologies—Soren, come _back_ here!” Viren shouts, shooting his son a glare and beckoning with his finger. “You _cannot_ run inside; I tell you this all the time. _Walk_.” He keeps a firm eye on him as the boy stops short, then makes an exaggerated show of walking very slowly, dragging his imaginary wings on the ground, growling mournfully. “Sorry, I hope I didn't worry you,” Viren says quietly to Sarai. Claudia is humming a song under her breath, ignoring them for the moment. Viren and Sarai’s shoulders brush together as they make their way through the castle, the early morning sun spilling in from the windows, its soft rays illuminating the varying shades of brown in Sarai’s eyes. “It’d been a long trip, I was in dire need of a bath.” He gives her what he hopes is a wry, carefree smile.

“Hmmm. You didn’t need to leave for that,” she murmurs, and the warm silence that stretches between them is only interrupted by Callum suddenly scrambling to lower himself, entranced by Soren’s antics. “Okay, Callum, okay _—_ ow, please, honey, let go of Mommy’s hair,” she yelps, stooping to extricate him from her braid and watch him run ahead to mimic Soren’s movements, smiling indulgently.

From her perch on Viren’s back, Claudia scoffs. “Boys are so stupid. What are they even doing?”

“Pretending to be dragons, I think,” Sarai answers, amused. “But yes, boys can be pretty dense.” She pokes Viren in the side— "Hey!” Viren yelps, biting back a laugh, while Claudia giggles—but before he can respond, she moves ahead to usher Soren and Callum into the dining hall, smoothing their hair back and whispering soothing words. Viren’s head spins as he lowers Claudia to the ground as well, and nods gratefully when two servants appear to take the children to their breakfast table. 

“We’ll see to it that they’re cleaned up and readied for their lessons, Your Majesty, Lord Viren,” the boy says, bowing low, as he and his female counterpart take the children’s hands. Released from their parental duties for the time being, Viren and Sarai give each other similarly relieved smiles, and Viren casts about for a way to respond to Sarai’s puzzling overtures.

“I hope that Harrow isn’t, ah, upset?” he ventures, and she rolls her eyes with a smirk, glancing over at the children before placing a gentle arm on Viren’s, leading him out of the hall. He follows, concerned, and until they’re in a somewhat private alcove, still deserted as the rest of the castle wakes up.

“No, Viren. He’s not upset. Just a little...on edge.”

She was speaking around it, Viren knew. Harrow was awful at keeping secrets, and Sarai could sniff out an insecurity from a mile away. “That was not my intent.”

“Quite.” Sarai gives him a coy glance. “No one is _blaming_ you for anything, you know.”

“Okay…” Viren pauses, completely at a loss. He takes a few moments to try to parse her expression, which, if he isn’t mistaken, verges on...mischievous. “I feel like I’m missing something.”

Sarai’s short laugh crumbles into a fond groan. “Your daughter was right,” she informs him, glancing around quickly before twisting her fingers into his collar, pulling him close. Goosebumps erupt over his skin as they’re suddenly nearly nose to nose, and his eyes drift down to her lips, still curved into a knowing smile. 

“Sarai…?” 

“Oblivious to a fault, my dear Lord Viren,” she breathes, then turns to leave a lingering kiss on his cheek before stepping back and starting to walk away, still holding his gaze. “We’ll speak again soon.”

Viren watches her go, and doesn’t move for a long time.

//

The memorial service for the Duren queens is held the following day, with a larger service to follow for their kingdom the following week. Various emissaries arrive to pay their respects to King Harrow and Queen Sarai, including the one-year-old Princess Aanya, who is carried in by her grandmother Anokhi, Duren’s Queen Regent. She is a gorgeous and happy baby, loved by all, and reaches eagerly for Viren when he stops to give his condolences to Annika’s mother.

“Go on, my lord,” she says encouragingly, her mass of bracelets jangling softly as she leans in, her gaze moving from Aanya to Viren. “She clearly likes you.”

“If you’re sure,” he says uncertainly, reaching over to clasp the baby to his chest. Aanya grins widely at him, showing off several teeth, her cheeks rosy and plump. It feels like just yesterday Claudia and Soren had been this age, and his heart fractures a bit in his chest as Aanya reaches up to tug on his goatee, much like his children once did, babbling happily. 

“I cannot express how sorry I am, Lady Anokhi,” he says somberly, bouncing the baby on his hip out of instinct. “Your daughters were true leaders, guiding lights for all of us, and good friends of mine. I deeply regret their passing.” The gravity of his speech is somewhat undercut by Aanya bopping him on the nose with a tiny fist.

“Aanya, no hitting, sweetheart. I thank you, Lord Viren.” Anokhi watches the child, heaves a heavy sigh. “My heart breaks for this little one, to grow in a world without her mothers. But I know they did what they felt was right. She will be well cared for, and our people will survive the winter. Thank you for what you’ve done for Duren.”

Viren inclines his head respectfully, giving in to the urge to nuzzle at Aanya’s cheek, smiling when she laughs, revealing two tiny teeth. A moment later her attention is caught by a butterfly that’s made its way into the tent, and she wriggles and twists violently in his arms, reaching out to grab it. 

“Give her here,” Lady Anokhi laughs, reaching for her granddaughter. “I know she is a handful.”

“She is blessed to have you as a grandmother,” Viren tells her as he deposits Aanya back into her arms. “Goodbye, Princess Aanya, Your Majesty.” He waves as Queen Anokhi ambles away, pointing out the colors in the butterfly’s wings to the delighted baby.

Viren feels an arm settle on his shoulders, and he turns to find Harrow grinning at him. “That was goddamn adorable.” His hair is arranged in a low french braid, and the early evening sun lights the warm, dark tones of Harrow’s skin in shadows of gold, stealing the breath from Viren’s lungs. After his surprising encounter with Sarai that morning, Viren is tentatively piecing together what seems to be transpiring, and it’s almost too much: such an old, familiar longing, flung wide open and suddenly set before him. The feeling of being disoriented in Harrow’s presence; of taking note of all the ways his beauty had manifested itself right here, on this particular day and in this particular moment; cataloging every touch, every smile thrown his way; these reactions have become second nature to Viren over the many years. Instinct, and thus easy enough to have trained himself to ignore. That almost-kiss has blown Viren’s painstaking construction of denial and resignation to hell. He is back to internally rhapsodizing, back to yearning, and it is a thrill—if an exhausting one.

“She’s a sweet child,” Viren responds easily, relishing the heat of Harrow’s body, so close. His shoulders are warm where Harrow is touching him, up to his neck, threatening to creep into his cheeks. From an innocent touch. He was doomed. “This was a beautiful ceremony.”

“Nothing less than they deserved,” Harrow agrees, then leans in conspiratorially, and Viren has to resist the urge to close his eyes, inhale. “I am ready for a drink, though. This past week has been...trying.”

An understatement. “On that we agree.” The sun is sinking in the sky and the air is soft and mild, a slow breeze idling by. Harrow drops his arm from Viren’s shoulders but stays close, and a gentle silence spreads between them as they take in the dwindling conversations of the guests. Soon it will be time for Harrow and Sarai to say goodbye to the guests, and then there will be a more private gathering of the high court and council. A more festive time of remembrance, customary on the occasion of a monarch’s passing. The alcohol will flow and they will share stories, cry together, laugh together. There was a crude Katolian joke, that the death of nobility guaranteed new life in the castle nursery ten months later. 

Viren isn’t thinking about that, though.

“I...am wondering if I should apologize to you,” Harrow says suddenly, still watching the milling guests. His voice is hesitant, if amused. 

Viren turns his head, and Harrow looks over at the same time, their eyes catching. He bites back a smile, tilts his head curiously. “For?”

Harrow’s jaw shifts, and his eyes slowly travel down Viren’s face before meeting his gaze again. It’s so distracting, and so telling, that Viren has to look away, flustered. “Should I speak plainly, Viren?”

“If you like.” A slow, tingling warmth begins to fill him, one that keeps threatening to bubble over into laughter. Especially when Harrow groans playfully under his breath, as Viren knew he would at such a non-committal answer. Even as they venture so gingerly into this strange new territory, the teasing nature of their friendship shows no signs of abating, simply...adapting. The implications that holds for the future give Viren a decidedly inappropriate jolt, considering their surroundings. 

Harrow turns more fully toward him, blocking the sun, until Viren’s vision is full of his face, arranged carefully, hinting at repressed suspicion and mirth. “When I kissed you. Yesterday. Surely you remember.” His voice is pitched low, too low to do anything but stoke a slow, simmering flame in Viren’s veins. He knows that Harrow sees the effect his words have on him, and he needs to crest this new plateau lest he crash to the ground, give up the game too quickly. 

“Was _that_ a kiss?” he responds with lilting sarcasm, and he barely has time to relish Harrow’s saucy smirk and raised eyebrows before—

“Your Majesty? It’s time,” Lady Opeli cuts in, and spares Viren a brief glance that drips with contempt. Of all the people to interrupt, naturally it would be her. “Queen Sarai awaits you at the doors.”

“Of course. Thank you, Lady Opeli. Lord Viren,” Harrow says curtly in farewell, inclining his head in a gesture so exaggeratedly formal, considering their closeness, that Opeli looks between them in confusion. Viren clasps his hands behind his back, lips twitching as he repeats the motion.

“Your Majesty.” Their gazes hold for just a second longer than they should, and then Harrow is walking to the entranceway, clasping the hands and shoulders of the attendees, giving them gracious smiles and kind words. Viren exhales and looks around for the maidservant, who waves. He makes his way over to the table, smiling as he approaches the children: Soren is shoveling pie into his mouth, which is to be expected, and Claudia is coloring with Callum. Viren sits down beside Soren, resting his chin on his hand as he watches the boy eat as if he’d never been fed a day in his life. 

“How many pieces have you had, Soren?” he asks after a few seconds. 

“Only four!” Soren grins at Viren, shoving bits of mushy, half-chewed cake between the gaps in his teeth.

“That’s disgusting,” Viren tells him, and the maidservant clucks her tongue.

“He did eat his vegetables, my lord,” she says sheepishly, and Viren gives her a short, sympathetic shake of his head; Soren has always been a charmer. He then leans over to examine Claudia’s work, squinting suspiciously. “Is that a rune?”

“Yeah! I found it in one of yo—” Claudia stops abruptly, face coloring as spreads her hands over the paper, trying to conceal it from view. "Nothing!"

"Claudia." Viren waits, watching her eyes dart back and forth, worrying her lower lip with her teeth as she tries to come up with a lie. Though he isn’t thrilled at her propensity for dishonesty when it helps her get her way, he still has to work to maintain his stern expression.

“I’ve told you not to steal my books. If there is something you want to read, just ask.”

All that said, her whine is less cute than it is grating, as only a seven-year-old’s can be. “But you _never_ let me read the _interesting_ ones!”

“You are still too young!” Viren looks closer, brushing aside her hand: _aspiro_. “I promise, I’ll let you pick out a book this week. A more interesting one, as you say. But we’ll look through it together.”

“YAY! Callum, did you hear that? Then we can do a spell to make jelly tarts rain from the sky!”

“From the _sky_?” he echoes, eyes wide with glee as he regards her, before looking back down to color his paper purple with renewed determination.

//

The late night celebration is no less emotional or jubilant than Viren would have expected. Viren is the last to share his story of Annika and Neha, as is his wont—the courtiers know Viren tells the best stories with the most heart, and he does not disappoint. 

“And so we raise our glasses to Annika and Neha,” he concludes, “Two mothers, two queens, and now legends. May we always remember their bravery and their sacrifice—” he catches the gaze of Harrow and Sarai, and swallows, buoyed by a sudden swell of emotion. “And be inspired by the strength of their love. To the queens of Duren.”

“The queens of Duren!” The crowd’s voices echo as one, several faces streaked with tears as they drink. The music has just started up once again when he sees Harrow and Sarai toast him from their high table, and he returns the gesture, heart pounding. Before he can wend his way toward them, he is pulled into a series of impassioned conversations, exhorted to regale curious ears about the expedition into Xadia, the fight with the Titan, and queens’ bravery as they rode toward Thunder as one. By the time he is able to extricate himself, nearly an hour later, the tenor of the room has grown decidedly more rowdy, and Viren himself is feeling a bit lighter in the head than he has in quite some time, thanks to the careful attention the servers have paid to dwindling cups all night. 

“Lord Viren!” he turns to find one of Sarai’s maidservants addressing him, brandishing a dark brown bottle. “The King and Queen requested you bring this to them.” When Viren glances toward the high table, she shakes her head. “They’ve already retired for the evening.”

“Oh,” Viren responds, too quickly, and clears his throat, taking the proffered bottle. “I will...do that, then. Thank you.” The girl bows and wanders away, seeming not to make note of his odd behavior, for which he is thankful. Downing the rest of his wine and handing the empty cup to a servant, he exits the raucous hall, taking a deep breath once the heavy doors’ closing reduces the din to a barely perceptible buzz. The air is slightly cooler, and he looks down at the bottle more closely—it’s a strong spirit, and one of Harrow’s favorites—before continuing in the direction of the royal chamber. He scarcely dares to think of what may await him, so he focuses instead of putting one foot in front of the other until he’s there, nodding to the guards who let him pass, waiting for the door to open after he is announced.

It is Sarai who appears, still in her dress robes, and she gives Viren a pleasant, grateful smile, taking the bottle. “Thank you, Lord Viren, you’re too kind.”

Viren inclines his head. “My pleasure. I hope you and the king have a good evening.” An out, let the records show he’s given them an out.

Sarai hesitates, glancing backward and giving Viren a small, cajoling smile. “Won’t you have a glass with us? As a gesture of our...gratitude.”

She’s having _fun_ with this, Viren realizes suddenly, as she regards him with laughing eyes. Their guards are well trained, however, and do not seem to find anything amiss. Viren nods, stepping forward as Sarai makes way—but barely. He’s forced to crowd her against the door and she beams up at him, then closes and locks it before leading the way into the bedchamber with a backwards glance that can only be described as _playful_.

When he enters the room, there is a warm blaze in the fireplace, and several candles lit besides. Harrow is sitting on the bed when they enter, and he stands to take the bottle from Sarai, inspecting it and grinning up at Viren. He’s shed his outer layers and is wearing only a sheer black shirt that is entirely unbuttoned, and Viren has to swallow against a sudden rush of saliva, taking in the smooth, firm lines of Harrow’s chest.

“Much appreciated, my friend,” he says with a wink, as if Viren had been the one to orchestrate this. 

“Yes, my pleasure.” He’s a bit flummoxed, unsure where to go from here. His eyes alight on Sarai, and he does a double take when she slips her robe from her shoulders, revealing a silky white slip that reveals her firm shoulders and gentle curves of her chest, and falls only to her upper thighs. She looks between Harrow and Viren and laughs at whatever she sees in their expressions. 

“What? It’s hot.” She nudges Harrow, then turns her head to rub at the divot between his neck and shoulder. “Pour us some drinks, won’t you, love.”

“As my queen commands,” he responds in a low voice, and they exchange a secret grin before Sarai looks back at Viren, jerking her head as if to say, _come closer._ As Viren makes his way over, trying to keep his eyes in respectful places (though, _did_ he have to? Actually?) Sarai takes two glasses of the amber-colored liquid, offering one to Viren, then snatches it away before his fingers touch the glass, shaking her head with a small pout.

“I insist you get more comfortable, Viren.” She tilts her head at him, several wispy locks of dark brown hair falling across her face. Viren gives her a small smirk, then looks at Harrow, who is watching them while taking a sip from his glass. Bringing his hands to the front of his robe, he quickly unbuttons it, the only sound the pops and crackles of the fireplace, the quiet whisper of Viren’s robes sliding from his shoulders, leaving a white chemise with its laces still tied, and after a moment of deliberation, he decides to leave it on. This is evidently enough for Sarai, because she hands him his glass, and they take a sip in unison. And then her glass clunks quietly down on a nearby table, and she’s meeting his eyes as she pulls the ties loose herself, her fingers moving slowly, brushing against his chest as she works. “Did you know, Viren,” she begins casually, glancing back at Harrow. “That we’ve talked about this for a long time?”

Talked about… “This?” he repeats blankly, floored. “Me?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Sarai looks back at him, biting her lip as she spreads his shirt open wider, baring his chest. “Is that surprising to you?” She takes another sip, leaning back against the table as Harrow ambles closer, his eyes slightly glassy, a small, hesitant smile on his lips. Viren watches him approach, his heartbeat kicking up to drum almost painfully within his chest.

“Yes,” Viren confesses, eyes slipping shut as Harrow steps right into his space, sliding an arm around his waist, leaning in to brush his lips against Viren’s cheek. “Why now?” he murmurs, returning the half-embrace, fingers clenching, aching to feel skin. 

“I can’t describe the agony of thinking I had lost you both,” Harrow says shakily, clutching Viren tighter, then turning to look at Sarai. “Life is short, and here we are. Et cetera. Viren,” Harrow laughs suddenly, with an air of surrender, regarding the mage with a half-pleading expression, visibly torn between frustration and laughter. “You’re my best friend. I have loved you for _years_. You have to have known.”

“Well, y—I suppose, but I didn’t think—” Viren’s mouth works in silence for a moment, his thoughts a rushing roar, realization crashing down on him. “I—” He huffs a small, self-conscious laugh, shutting his eyes, trying to gather the words. It’s finally time; all in. “I never thought I would say this out loud," he confesses. "I'm... _yours,_ Harrow. I've always been."

His face burns at the naked honesty, but it’s out there, and he can’t take it back. Harrow’s grin is blinding, and he looks back at Sarai with triumph, an impulse so telling that Viren’s knees feel weak. He’s _relieved_. Sarai smiles indulgently at them both as she comes closer, slips a slim hand around Harrow’s neck, pulls him in for a brief, deep kiss. She nods at him once before she steps away, then does the same to Viren: giving permission. Harrow puts down his glass, takes Viren's to deposit it beside his, then settles his other hand around Viren’s neck, pulling him so close Viren can count his eyelashes, smell the sweet liquor on his breath.

“Consider this an amendment,” Harrow murmurs, his eyes falling to Viren’s lips as he leans in, sealing his mouth over Viren’s in a kiss so molten that Viren’s lips part immediately, sucking in air as he tilts his head to deepen the angle, burying a hand in Harrow’s hair. Viren feels like he’s been set ablaze, his entire body thrumming, curling his tongue against Harrow’s as they gasp and lick and suck at each other’s mouths, ravenous. He can barely think, can barely catch a breath as he loses himself in the taste of Harrow, _finally,_ feels the hot press of his body against his own, the line of heat poking against his thigh, until he shifts slightly, wrenching quiet groans from them both as aching cocks come into contact. 

Viren remembers, abruptly, that Sarai is there, then feels guilty; was this what they’d had in mind? Pulling away reluctantly, he casts a questioning glance in Sarai’s direction, and sees that she’s now propped up in the bed, emptying her drink, one hand making its way up her inner thigh. She deposits the empty glass on the bedside table and sighs, spreading her legs slightly. “Don’t stop on my account,” she assures Viren, her voice grown somewhat husky. “Also, darling, let’s not leave him in the dark.”

Harrow brushes gentle fingers across Viren’s jaw, pulling the mage’s attention back to him. “We want you, Viren,” he says quietly, tracing shapes across his lower back with his other hand. “She’s happy to watch us, or join us. We can do this however you like. What do you prefer?”

Viren doesn’t know what he could have possibly done to earn such a blessing, but he isn’t going to question it for another second. He pulls Harrow into another slow, bruising kiss, just because he can, and then takes his hand and pulls him over to the bed. Sarai watches him approach with a flushed face, beckoning. It was a fantasy Viren barely allowed himself to access, the echoes of which had come roaring back while on horseback with her, their proximity so affecting, even in those dire circumstances. Viren climbs onto the bed and lowers himself beside Sarai, gratified to feel Harrow follow with the dip of the mattress. She moves to her side, facing Viren, smirking when his gaze drops involuntarily to her breasts, barely concealed in her new position. She threads a hand through his hair and pulls him close, licking at his lips before she kisses them, humming in satisfaction when his breath catches, eyes falling shut as he surrenders to the sweet glide of her mouth against his, her warm, wet tongue, the softness of her silk shift when he bunches it in his hand, pulling it taut at her waist. Behind him, he feels Harrow settle closer, a warm hand at his hip, a clever mouth sucking kisses into the back of his neck, his shirt being pulled aside as more kisses and bites are peppered across his shoulder. Viren can’t help but whimper into Sarai’s mouth when Harrow’s teeth dig in especially hard, no doubt pulling bruises to the surface of his skin, the soft noise becoming a low moan as Harrow rocks against him, bringing his hardness into direct contact with Viren’s rear. Sarai hums a small laugh, opening her eyes, nipping at Viren’s lower lip before pulling away to regard him with an almost triumphant smile.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Sarai begins wonderingly, trailing her hands across the marks Harrow’s teeth had left in Viren’s skin. “But I wasn’t sure you’d be a great kisser. Very glad that I was mistaken.”

“How am I _not_ supposed to take that the wrong way, exactly?” Viren intones, half-hurt, but mostly amused by the way Harrow crumbles into giggles against his back.

“Jesus, babe,” he groans, rising up to hook his chin over Viren’s shoulder, dragging a hand over his waist, up to his chest. “Please ignore her,” he murmurs to Viren, and Sarai laughs.

“Does that mean you didn’t share her opinion?” Viren can’t help asking, his smile slipping sideways when Sarai captures his hand, pulls it to the warm juncture of her thighs. “Oh, hello.”

“Hi,” Sarai beams, eyes slipping shut in pleasure when Viren brushes careful fingers against her clit. Behind him, Harrow hums happily, insinuating a hand beneath Viren’s shirt, spreading his fingers against the warm skin.

“I didn’t.” Harrow licks at the shell of his ear and bites it, pulling a soft hiss from Viren. Scraping his fingers lightly downwards, skirting the top of his pants, but not too overt to be distracting. The implication is clear: Viren and Sarai have the floor. 

A little overwhelmed, Viren meets her eyes, relieved when she gives him a reassuring smile. “Come here,” she says in a low voice, and wraps a hand in his shirt to pull him closer, turning onto her back and sighing as he settles himself over her. Their lips meet in another kiss, one that gradually deepens as the friction between their bodies approaches unbearable, their clothing growing stifling and hot. Sarai whines softly, squirming beneath him, and Viren sits up enough to give her room to grasp her slip and pull it up and over her head, landing on the floor beside the bed. She’s completely bare, firelight and candlelight dancing over smooth, pale skin, and Harrow chuckles warmly as he moves behind Viren, lifting his shirt off and tossing it away, placing another line of kisses across his shoulders. Viren sighs, turning his head and humming in relief when Harrow’s mouth finds his, grounding him again, even as it all still feels so thrillingly, scorchingly new. Harrow pulls away to give him a sly smile, and then they both look down at Sarai, who’s watching them and biting her lip—and Viren’s pulse jumps when he sees the hand between her legs, fingers making slow circles on her clit.

“See something you like?” Harrow asks her teasingly, sliding his fingers into Viren’s hair, and Sarai grins, spreading her legs wider, revealing more of the short, downy black hairs framing her glistening pink sex, raising one leg to lightly rub against Viren’s side.

“Mmmm-hmmmm,” she sighs contentedly, flicking her eyes downwards. “What’s with all the pants, still? Your queen orders you both to strip.”

After some more shifting and maneuvering, all three are finally naked, with Harrow tucking himself close beside Sarai, licking deeply into her mouth while Viren peppers kisses along her neck and collarbone, then lower, along the swell of her breast, before sucking a hardened nipple into his mouth, worrying it gently with his teeth, then tongue. Sarai gasps and giggles, pushing her chest more firmly against his face, and Viren switches sides to repeat the motion, noticing that one of Harrow’s hands has dipped between her legs, stroking slowly. Feeling bold, Viren slots his fingers against Harrow’s at the same time that he flicks her nipple with his tongue again, gratified to hear her sharper intake of breath, Harrow chuckling quietly. She’s so warm, so slick, and the fact that he and Harrow are pleasuring her together has Viren’s cock sitting stiffly against his stomach, precum pearling at the tip. After a few minutes Harrow’s hand withdraws and Viren looks up in question, catching his eye.

“Keep going,” Harrow tells him, then slides his glistening fingers slowly over Sarai’s lips, emitting a pleased groan when she opens her mouth to suck on them, tasting herself. It takes Viren’s breath away for a moment, but he quickly sets back to his task, sweeping two fingers against her opening before sliding one slowly in, guided by her blazing heat. She keens softly, arching her back, no doubt rubbing against Harrow in all the right ways, judging from his sudden hiss. Viren bends to drop lingering kisses across her chest as he adds a second finger, pumping them slowly in and out of her, stroking against her soft inner walls, marveling at the steady spread of fluid nearly coating his hand. Their bodies move in tandem like that for a while: slow, exploratory, lips and tongues and hands gently teasing, learning the steps of this wholly new dance. 

_“Gods_ ,” Viren grinds out, unable to hold it in as Sarai begins to rock her hips more firmly against his hand, feeling lit up from the inside out, face flushed. Sarai is panting softly, fingers clenched in his hair, and Harrow brushes her hair aside to lick a slow stripe up her neck.

“Feels good, babe?” he asks lowly, and she bites her lip, nodding, eyes screwed shut as her hips redouble their pace. Viren adds a third finger, careful to brush them against the place deep inside of her that makes her quake, and catches Harrow’s eye when she cries out, stomach visibly tightening. “Want to come on Viren’s fingers?”

“Yes, _yes,_ just like that,” she whispers harshly, eyes flying open as her grip on his hair tightens, past the point of pain but he’s not willing or able to stop for anything. Rutting against her thigh to give himself some relief, Viren increases the pace of his hand’s thrusting, rubbing his thumb against her clit.

“Lick her,” Harrow orders as he pinches her nipples, and he watches hungrily as Viren obeys, dipping down to massage his tongue where his thumb had just been. Sarai stiffens, drawing in a stuttered breath, and rocks her eager cunt against Viren’s face once, twice, three times, thighs clenched and quivering. It’s only when Viren sucks the tiny bud into his mouth and laves it with his tongue that her release finally snaps, and he grasps her hips to hold her through the roiling waves of it as she shakes, sharp, ecstatic cries pulled from her throat. When her body’s quakes subside and her breathing begins to return to normal, Viren feels himself being pulled up by the now sensitive spot in his scalp, smiling at the dazed expression on her face. Sarai slumps onto her back, face aglow with a thin sheen of sweat, looking for all the world like the cat who got the cream.

“You’ve made my wife a very happy woman,” Harrow remarks smugly to Viren, pulling him close, sliding a hand around his neck and bumping their noses together. “How does she taste?”

“Like heaven,” Viren answers honestly, and both Sarai and Harrow laugh, not unkindly. 

“Good answer,” Sarai purrs, gently scraping her nails up and down Harrow’s back, watching him close the remaining distance to kiss Viren deeply, moaning as he tastes Sarai’s juices on his lips. Viren sighs as Harrow pulls him into a more crushing embrace, head swimming at the sensation of skin on skin—he feels like a dam has burst, and he can’t stop himself from touching, exploring Harrow’s broad shoulders and smooth back, down to grasp at the plump backside that he’s spent years trying not to notice, a motion that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sarai.

“Mmm, he’s got the best ass, doesn’t he?” she asks indulgently, and Viren grins into the kiss, making a noise of assent. “A squeeze a day keeps the doctor away, I always say.”

Harrow groans, pulls away from Viren with a laugh. “I’ve literally never heard you say that,” he points out, twisting to lower Viren to the bed, then, to Viren’s surprise, moving downwards to hover teasingly over his leaking cock, looking up at him with a wink.

“Well, I might start,” she says somewhat breathlessly, watching their new position with interest. “Anyway, continue.”

“Gladly.” Before Viren can take a breath, his thighs are spread as Harrow sucks the head of his cock into his mouth, pulling a loud, strangled shout from his lips, heart hammering in his chest. Harrow does not waste any time, stroking Viren’s sensitive head with his tongue before taking him deeper, and the _look_ he shoots Viren as his jaw stretches open sends a hot flush prickling up his chest, his neck. Whatever Harrow sees in Viren’s face makes his eyes fall shut on a long moan, and the vibration around his shaft nearly makes Viren see stars. His hands clench tightly in the sheets below him and he grits his jaw, trying to keep his hips still as Harrow continues to swallow him down, sheathing him in the tight, clutching heat of his throat, the most delicious agony.

“Hhh— _arrow_ ,” he whimpers, one hand fluttering up to his head, and then he hesitates, unsure if the move would be appreciated. Harrow looks up again and makes a noise of permission, and Viren sighs as he threads his fingers through the thick locs, awash in pleasure. 

“He’s wanted to do this for so long,” Sarai murmurs in Viren’s ear, and Viren moans out loud, eyes slipping shut again as her breath washes over his skin, her voice lower than he’s ever heard it. “Wanted to taste you, all of you.” She pauses, beams down at Harrow, then rubs her nose along Viren’s neck, slow and deliberate. “How does it feel?”

It takes Viren a moment to summon the mental faculties to speak. “'S perfect, so fucking perfect,” he breathes in a rush, burning somehow hotter at the sound of his own voice, so uncharacteristically wrecked. Harrow’s cheeks are tinged with red when Viren looks down at him, confirming Sarai’s words. “I’m— _gods,_ Harrow...I’m not going to last...”

“Mmm. Pull his hair,” Sarai suggests, grinning when Viren complies and Harrow jerks with a muffled moan. “Baby, _look_ at you,” she croons, propping herself up on one arm as she shifts to her side, watching Harrow take Viren in completely. “You look amazing like this. You want Viren to fuck your face, don’t you? I know you do.” 

Viren can almost _feel_ the heat of Harrow’s blush this time, and he swallows heavily, feeling a rush of precum blurt out at Sarai’s words. Harrow pulls off slowly, licks his lips, and looks between the two of them, the expression on his face completely open with want, with hunger. 

“Yeah,” he says simply, shifting his gaze back to Viren. “Do it.” He swallows him down once more and Viren sighs, tightening his hold in Harrow’s hair, giving one slow, careful thrust upwards, thighs trembling, not wanting to choke him, feeling the looming force of his orgasm not too far off. He can tell when Harrow fully relaxes his throat, and can’t tear his gaze away as his hips punch up again, and again, mesmerized by the wet shine of Harrow’s stretched lips, the fierce, fond look in Harrow’s eyes as he lets Viren use him. Fuck, Viren will never forget this sight as long as he lives, will likely never again know peace now that he knows what it feels like to shove his aching length into the smooth glide of his king’s throat, again and again—he’s barely able to gasp out a warning before he’s coming, cock pulsing as he spends himself into that tight heat, and Harrow swallows most of it down, the last few spurts landing on his lips. He licks it off slowly, lips curling in a filthy grin when Viren _whines_ , throwing an arm over his face while his chest heaves, the very sight of Harrow simply _too much_ right now. He’s vaguely aware of Sarai and Harrow’s movements as he slowly recovers, pulse still racing, and when he comes back to himself, they’re entwined once more, with Harrow on his back, Sarai perched above him and lowering herself onto his thick cock.

“Welcome back,” she jokes breathlessly to Viren, bracing her hands on Harrow’s chest as she begins to rock back and forth. “You two were, uh, inspiring…” she arches her back with a soft cry, losing the thread of her own words, intent on chasing down her pleasure. Harrow breathes a short laugh and looks over at Viren, who’s staring at him in wonder.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Harrow promises in a tight voice, and Viren can’t help but pull him into a brief, searching kiss. And then it isn’t long before Sarai’s breath catches and she’s shuddering her release once more, aided by Viren coming around to palm her breasts, and sucking bites into her neck. She pulls off of Harrow and collapses bonelessly to the bed on her front, skin flushed, eyes half-lidded as she strokes Harrow’s still-hard cock, leaking messily into her hand.

“Hmm, someone’s still sporting,” she mumbles happily, and Harrow eases up to give her a lingering kiss, smoothing his hands down her back. Then he turns to Viren, and the naked desire in his face sends another shockwave of arousal through him.

“Turn over,” Harrow demands shortly, pupils fully dilated, and Viren can’t imagine doing anything other than exactly that, turning onto his stomach and closing his legs at Harrow’s silent direction, pillowing his head in his arms. He hisses in surprised pleasure when Harrow straddles him to slot his cock between Viren’s thighs and thrust deeply, setting up a punishing pace that wrings soft grunts from them both with each shove. It isn’t until Harrow manhandles Viren up to his knees that he fully realizes he’s hard again, a discovery that makes Harrow gasp out a pleased laugh against his back, sneaking his hand around to grasp him in his fist and continue thrusting. 

“Next time I want to fuck you open, just like this,” Harrow grits out, his movements growing more forceful as he speeds toward orgasm, draping himself more fully over Viren, as if trying to get closer still. The bed rocks as they move together, and Viren gasps as the slippery head of Harrow's cock catches on his hole. “Will you let me, Viren?”

_Next time._ Harrow's fingers, his cock, buried inside him—Viren can’t speak, can only freeze, letting out a hoarse cry as his orgasm races through him, and Harrow follows not too long after, stroking himself to completion against Viren’s upturned cheeks, painting them in stripes of white. There’s a dip in the mattress as Harrow rolls off the bed, but soon he’s back with a wet rag, having extinguished the waning candles as well, and once the three of them are relatively cleaner they settle beneath the covers—Sarai pressed to Viren’s right side, Harrow on his left.

“I feel like I should say thank you,” Viren mumbles sleepily, as Sarai traces lines into his chest, “But that feels somehow...tawdry and inadequate.”

Harrow snorts and makes a small noise of agreement, pressing his face into Viren’s neck, giving it a small kiss. “Unnecessary. If anything we should thank you. Like Sarai said, this was a long-held fantasy.”

“Mmhmm,” she agrees, yawning, reaching across Viren to brush her fingers gently down Harrow’s face, who leans into the touch, smiling. “Don’t be a stranger, Viren.”

“I won’t,” he promises, as they finally drift into sleep.

And he keeps that promise.


End file.
